


The Test

by sakura_freefall



Category: Crossover/Multi-fandom, Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character studies, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hadestown AU but only sort of, Hopeful Ending, I analyze my OTPs, If they die in canon they fail the test here, If they don't then they succeed, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Omnipotent narrator, Reincarnation but only sort of, Unknown narrator, canon compliant deaths, i take a lot of liberties, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_freefall/pseuds/sakura_freefall
Summary: Sometimes it tests us. Sometimes they fail. Sometimes they succeed. Sometimes the odds are stacked against them, sometimes they have an advantage.There are no second chances, but no darkness lasts forever.(A study of my OTPs when faced with the circumstances in the Orpheus/Eurydice myth)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Cato/Clove (Hunger Games), Ender & Petra (QPR), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown), Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy, Four | Tobias Eaton/Tris Prior, Hazel Grace Lancaster/Augustus Waters, Heather Chandler/Heather McNamara, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Magnus Chase/Alex Fierro, Minho/Newt (Maze Runner), Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire, Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Percy Jackson, Teresa Agnes/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	The Test

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this is me brain dump character analyzing. Very self indulgent.
> 
> It's a Hadestown AU but not really, just a lot of prose, an omnipotent narrator, and a very ambiguous but nonetheless hopeful ending.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sometimes, across a babbling, murky river, you can hear laughter, or the faintest sound of crying. Because the universe plays with strings of fate, weaves stories and songs out of a million different atoms and sparks and lives.

Sometimes there are tragedies and tests and whispers in the night. And every time, it continues. Why do they do this?

Perhaps because sometimes mortals need something to keep the dark from taking it all. It's the same sad story told in a thousand incaranations, the same melody with a hundred different words. But it keeps happening.

Sometimes they succeed, they cross the river, back into the light. Other times... they aren't so lucky. It is a pain, to do nothing but watch.

***

The first ones were a poet and an angry songbird. They started the... tradition, if you could call it that. They were also the first failure.

The boy turned. You know this story. The boy turned, and lost his songbird, because of the doubts that hid in the back of his mind. It was doubt that caused them to fail. A mark on the stone.

***

The next two were a small girl with hair the color of summer straw, dressed in tight black, with a tattoo of three birds, and a tall boy with dark blue eyes and scars on his face, and a number for a name.

They made it almost halfway before he turned. It wasn't doubt this time so much as it was a slip of the mind, forgetfulness. Arrogance. He didn't believe that he could do anything but succeed, that he could trick the oldest trickster. Another mark on the stone.

***

The next ones, though, were a boy with a talent for painting and a soft heart, and a girl who'd been through hell and back with a heart of fire. The universe seemed to doom them to failure, and it was almost a waste of time to watch them. 

But then she didn't turn, she kept right on walking across the river and into the sunlight, the boy following her. There was something in her, a burning knowing that she would do whatever it took, play whatever game she needed to. Sometimes it made her life difficult, but today it saved her.

A mark on the tree.

***

The next two, likewise, felt as if they were born to succeed. Both strong and capable, deadly as vipers and bold as lions. They got close, so close. The boy's steps were confident, the girl's quiet and certain. But right before crossing the bank, he overestimated his jump, didn't know he'd fallen just short of the line.

He cried as the girl was pulled back into the shadows, her knives useless against the force of fate. So he screamed, cursed the heavens, and ran right back across the river to her. Both giving up their chance for a happy life, to be together.

Two marks on the stone.

***

The next ones were two boys, one with gold hair and a red vest and a face that seemed to glow with passion. The other had dark, wild hair, a smirk, and tired, quiet eyes. These two did not follow the rules. They did not even start to cross before an agreement seemed to pass over their faces. It should have been realized that these two would not give the universe the satisfaction of deciding their fates.

They both turned, accepting, and crossed into the dark hand in hand.

It didn't seem right to mark the stone or the tree. So neither were marked.

***

The boy was scared from the start. Shaking and shivering. The other boy followed behind, seeming to know before it happened that it was a lost cause. He barely made it three steps before on instinct he turned, his fear getting the better of him. The taller boy almost smiled, perhaps preferring this anyways. Memories passed between them of trees and light and sky that went on forever.

It was like a goodbye, but also a promise. They'd meet again.

A mark on the stone.

***

The next two were hopeless. Nothing left to lose. They made it about halfway, the boy with the intelligent eyes and the raven-haired girl. The boy turned, not from fear or forgetfullness, but betrayal. He knew what he was doing.

Why?

The girl seemed to accept her fate. The boy tried to hide his tears as the realization of what he'd done filled his mind. He'd regret it, always, but there was no going back. No penance. No second chances. A mark on the stone.

***

Two girls, one in yellow, one in red. Had the red one been in front, there was no question that they would've made it. But no, the yellow one was destined to be the one with their fate on her shoulders.

She turned, unable to take the doubt and fear clawing at her brain, and only had time to reach for the other's red-painted nails before she faded back into the dark. The yellow one was not born to lead, and the red one not born to follow.

Another mark, on the stone again.

***

These two were also different. The passion between them was different, although just as strong. Less of a blinding amour, and more of a strong, secure friendship. The love came not from heart flutters and youth, but from the certainty of knowing someone so completely.

The boy didn't falter. Neither did the girl. The universe knew that they'd been through too much to doubt each other, or do anything less than doubt. Cool logic and thought brought them through to the surface. The universe smiled a little. A mark on the tree it was.

***

One boy was dark-haired with a laugh like sunshine and a smile like vines of ivy. The other was wiry and quiet and full of so much pain. Opposites.

Of course, the boy's confidence got the better of him, and he turned around. He called curses at the world, because he'd just damned himself and his lover with him. A mark on the stone was a mark on the stone, after all.

***

The girl's hair was red and curly and everywhere, like a fire, but the warm, friendly kind. The boy was like an ocean, calm and composed. They knew this test. They had an advantage. They were full, both of them, of so much life that it was impossible for them to do anything but succeed.

Sometimes a little bit of light is all it takes. They laughed as they walked back into the sunlight. Another mark for the tree.

***

He was sun and she was storm. The two fell together like magnets, binded with a million forces outside of their control. Love at its most elemental, most pure state. And through the raging river and darkness of doubt, it was impossible to tell for certain.

Did he save her, putting her cold, shattered heart back together with his warm laugh and comforting arms? Or did she save him, showing him all he could be, with her green hair like venom, her sharp tongue, her cold, star-filled two-color eyes?

Maybe they saved each other. A mark, nonetheless, on the tree.

***

He needed her, she needed him. They knew each other so well. They'd built their life together, been through thick and thin. The writer and his sweet love.

Ironic that she turned, forgetting the deal in her fancy. He didn't blame her, it seemed. But their chance was taken. All the letters and tears and pleads wouldn't bring him back. She turned to stone, cold and determined and brusque, just like the stone that was marked with her failure.

***

The next were young and in love. Young and stupid and smart and silly. A whirlwind of vivacity. Tulips and champagne and night-sky stars and books with notes scribbled down in the margins. But she had fallen for him too soon and too late.

Her candor and intelligence wasn't enough. His blind faith and optimism wasn't enough. Her quick, accidental slip sent her only glimpse of light back into the dark. She was used to being alone, had been alone for a long time before him.

But it wasn't the same. You can't miss what you've never had, and now that she had it, she missed it sorely. A mark on the stone.

***

They were red-haired, quiet, and blushing, dressed badly and full of words about the future. He was dark-clothed, dark-souled, and poised. A panther and a swan. Strangely, his turn was not of malicious intent, simply a mistake. A mistake.

That was their love, too. A mistake. Doomed from the start. An epic Greek tragedy. Star-crossed.

When the redhead returned to the shadows, he seemed at home. Accepting. Forgiving.

It was the personification of shadow that cried for him back in the light. Mark on the stone, again.

***

It seems sad, so many stone-marks to tree-marks, so many stories cut off abruptly.

The stories don't end, though. The universe is not that cruel. Bodies turn to bones that turn to dust in the soil, and turn to atoms that are sewn together again by the hands of a galaxy.

Perhaps the poet and songbird meet at a concert, stay for a dance. Perhaps the tattooed girl and scarred boy find each other on an airplane as they crave adventure. Perhaps the two hand-holding rule breakers see each other for the first and thousandth time at a little cafe full of warmth and chatter. Perhaps the tree lover and his quiet, sad soulmate will pick apples at an orchard in the early autumn warmth. 

Perhaps the two with minds far beyond their years and a budding curiosity will unravel the maze of their lives as lab partners in a chemistry class. Perhaps the yellow and red-clad girls would share a dance at a highschool prom, drunk on punch and teenage love. Perhaps the two warriors would trade their hands full of knives for weights and training staffs as they laughingly spar with each other. Perhaps the slim, broken boy and his strong, dark-haired lover would run across a field, nothing to stop them, racing to see who was faster.

Perhaps the wild, scatterbrained, brilliant writer and the kind, caring girl who fell for him would sit in a dorm room sipping coffee and sharing stories. Perhaps the boy with the cigarettes and the smart young woman with a head full of words and a mouth full of wit would find each other at a park, bonding over their love of sculpture or history or video games. Perhaps the red-haired revolutionary and their chat noir would walk alleyways late at night, kissing under the moon.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

The universe sings a song, and the song is strangely beautiful, with all its pain and love and everything in between.

We are all the song, and we are all singing. And the universe never forgets.

***

**_~fin~_ **


End file.
